Saturday, July 3rd, we go to a summer camp kick-off party at Little London Preschool, and Neva gets to check out the classrooms, the pool, the tennis courts, the pool, the gym area, and did I mention the pool? She even enters a swimming race and ties for 2nd place in her heat (out of 4 kids). Typical of Romanian organization, the contest is arranged by lining the kids up by height, and then sending them, 4 at a time, into the pool to race. The kids vary in age from about 5 to teenagers so when the winners of each heat compete against each other for the grand prize, the full range of ages is represented. I’m not convinced that it is necessarily the most efficient system, but Neva is very proud of her results nonetheless. We sign her up for 4 weeks of camp thinking it will be a great opportunity for her to meet other kids who speak English, and just to have other kids to play with. Selfishly, it also sounds like a great way for me to get some time to myself since we haven’t been out of sight of each other for more than a few hours in months.

Since we don’t have a car and the school is not easily accessible by public transportation, we sign her up for the bus, thinking that will make things much easier. We did not count on the 1-hour trip each way to get her to the bus stop, however. Our morning routine takes a drastic turn into the wee hours, with Chris and Neva leaving the house at 7:30, walking 10-15 minutes to the city bus stop, taking two buses, then walking another 10 minutes for Neva to catch the school bus at 8:30 while Chris then heads into the office. Neva takes another 30-minute bus ride to school for a 7-hour day. I take care of afternoon pick-up duty, which means I leave the house at 4:30 for the 2-hour round-trip. Since we are getting home at 6:30 or 7:00 and we are all up before 7 AM, this leaves just enough time for dinner and getting ready for bed when we get home.

Neva is definitely missing having time each day to go to the park or the pool, or just play with her toys at home, and we’re all exhausted by the end of the week. By Friday morning, she resists getting up to go (by resists, I mean kicks, screams, cries and hides under her sheets), and I have to bribe her out of bed with the promise of Nutella toast and sparkling juice for breakfast. On the last day of camp, I pick Neva up at school and we have a “stay-up-late-to-celebrate-not-getting-up-early-for-camp” party. I know she has had a good time overall, and she has made some good friends, but the busing system just doesn’t work for us. Lesson learned for next year.